


omg no don't project onto minecraft men ur so sexy ahhahaha

by solace404



Category: Minecraft (Video Game)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Blood and Injury, Depression, Family Dynamics, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Kinda, Panic Attacks, Past Suicide Attempt, Relapse, Self-Harm, Suicidal Thoughts, based off personal experienc, graphic description of self harm, i'm projecting, this is a vent fic, trigger warning
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-04
Updated: 2020-11-04
Packaged: 2021-03-09 04:40:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,139
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27378874
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/solace404/pseuds/solace404
Summary: technoblade relapses after almost 6 months of being clean.%%this is a retelling of a personal story but with a happy, non-dysfunctional-family, ending.%%TRIGGER WARNING TRIGGER WARNING TRIGGER WARNING TRIGGER WARNING TRIGGER WARNING
Relationships: No Romantic Relationship(s)
Comments: 22
Kudos: 383





	omg no don't project onto minecraft men ur so sexy ahhahaha

**Author's Note:**

> TRIGGER WARNING TRIGGER WARNING TRIGGER WARNING TRIGGER WARNING TRIGGER  
> self harm language used:  
> -baby cut - a very small, thin, non-deep cut. anywhere from no blood to only a little blood  
> -sytro - past all layers of skin, can see white. usually a good amount of blood. blood takes time to pool in the cut.  
> -deeper cuts I don't think have names but will be described in the story.

Techno hadn't felt this way in months. He thought it was over, everyone _told_ him the hard part was over. So why was he feeling like this? His skin didn't fit his body, his scalp was crawling, his arms were itching. A blackhole was formed in his chest, consuming his every emotion. It was painful, God was it painful.

The boy's arms and legs were screeching at him, inaudible pleas for _something._

No one was home yet. Technoblade scoured his room and the house for something, anything, to scratch his itch. Nothing. The pencil sharpeners were guarded, the scissors were dull, kitchen knifes are ineffective, and razors weren't an option (Phil made sure no one but him had access to the screwdriver). As a last result he searched through the first-aid kit. The pink haired teen knew he shouldn't do it, knew it was dangerous, more dangerous than anything he'd ever cut with. Logic was thrown out, fear was replaced with adrenaline. 

The utensil was small and had a green cap, protecting everything from the sharp scalpel pointed at the end. Every logical cell in his body screamed not to do it. It was rash, it was dangerous, it was downright reckless. ' _technoblade you know better'_ his mind screamed. 

The fear only filled him with adrenaline. He held the cool metal between his thumb and index finger and trudged up stairs into the bathroom. 

The lid of the toilet was cold under him, he'd stripped down to boxers and T-shirt for the ordeal. It was easier to clean up the blood with minimal cloth. He knew the Do's and the Don'ts. He'd been around the block. This was his thing and that made him feel _powerful_. Why had he ever given this up? 

Popping off the lid, he tested the blade on his finger, pressing very lightly. Instantly, a beed of blood grew from an invisible spot. Never a good sign. Blaring red warnings went of in Technoblade's head. They only fueled his adrenaline. 

As with every new blade, test cuts were needed. He wasn't an idiot, he didn't want to die. With duller blades his test cuts would consist of him trying to go as deep as he could go, to gage the power of the weapon. This blade though, this blade he knew could rip him to shreds.

He dragged the tip of the scalpel swiftly but gently across his upper thigh. On most blades, a cut with this power wouldn't have even drawn blood, but looking down he as saw a baby-styro. A wicked grin grew on his face. He tested a little bit more on his thighs, all were decent by his standards. 

Time for the main course. 

He moved the blade to his left shin and gave it a quick slice with a tad of pressure. It was worryingly painless and resulted in a decent styro. Before blood could pour from the cut and interrupt further cutting, Techno gave himself a few more slashes on that side.

He then switched to the right. Near his calve, the boy slashed some deep ones. He thought these ones would be the peek of tonight and took disgusting pride in them. The boy stared at them for a second. The miniature reservoirs filled with blood until they couldn't contain it, thick beads of almost black liquid ran down his leg. He caught the stream with a finger. The taste of blood was sickening but still he put the finger in his mouth. To prevent blood from staining the ground he covered the cuts with a hastily crafted, make-shift toilet paper bandage.

He moved the blade to the over side of his shin. And, in a moment of brilliant idiocy, cut like he was welding a normal blade. The world stopped. A cut, no a gash, appeared.

(Through the blood in his ears he didn't hear the front door open. )

For a moment he could see fat, bubbling fat that made his stomach churn. The next moment it was replaced with blood. Blood poured from the wound faster than anything he'd ever seen. It wasn't a vital hit, it wouldn't kill him, but by God was he scared. Technoblade held his breath, mind completely blank. _you have to get the first aid-kit. no too much blood. scream for help. no one's here dumbass. put pressure on it. I don't wanna touch it. how long will it bleed for? am I going to die? god so much blood. blood blood blood blood blood blood-_

Before he could stop it, his chest was stuttering and heaving for breath. He put a shaking hand on the wound. Blood seeped through his fingers and a puddle of dark, almost black, blood grew hat his foot. 

"T-Techno?" Wilbur's voice came from behind the bathroom door, it held anxiety and hesitance. For a horrible moment he thought back to a year ago, at the hospital, when Phil told the boy that Wilbur was the one who found him, blood seeping from his writs and an empty pill bottle on the floor. His breathing picked up. "You alright in there?" 

He wheezed out a sob, trying to say something, anything at all. He managed to croak a pitiful "Help." 

The door was opened and once again the world was frozen. Wilbur's eyes were wide, the curly haired boy looked from the pool of blood to his hyperventilating brother. 

"Fuck, uh. Techno? Take a deep breath, its okay. I'm here." He tried to comfort, "I'm gonna call Dad, alright?" 

The boy nodded rapidly. He needed Phil right now. He needed his _dad_. 

"Tech," Wilbur started slowly, "can you hand me the blade you used?" 

The older eyed Techno's shaking hands cap a scalpel. A lump formed in his throat. The younger almost dropped it handing it to Will. 

"Thank you." Wilbur tried with every fiber in his being to keep his voice from shaking. He set the scalpel on the counter and picked up his phone, dialing Phil. He answered on the second ring. 

"Hello mate, whats up?" Came a cheery voice from the end of the line.

"D-dad." Will took a sharp inhale, "Can you come home? It's an emergency." 

The line was silent for a minute. "I'm heading to the car now, what happened?" 

"Techno- he- he.." Wilbur couldn't finish his sentence. He forced himself to take a breath. The teen had to be strong for his brother, who was still trying to get control of his breath. "He's hurt really bad. I-I-I think.. I think we might need to go to the hospital." 

"Take him to the hospital, Will." The oldest said, with a very parental tone, "I'll meet you there as soon as possible. I'll also pick up Tommy." 

"Thank you dad." 

"Of course. Tell Tech to stay strong for me, alright?"

**Author's Note:**

> if you take anything from this story : DON'T BE LIKE ME! DON'T CUT WITH MEDICAL BLADES!


End file.
